


Painting the Roses Red

by Solarcat



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 2x03 - Family of Rogues, Alternate Universe - Canon, Eddie Lives, Kid Fic, M/M, Rating will go up, References to Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Zoom who?, blatantly ignoring most of S2 canon, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarcat/pseuds/Solarcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard Snart has more reasons than even Lisa knows, for going along with their father's plan -- or rather, one particular reason.</p><p>Or, the one where Barry Allen helps Captain Cold hide a body, and everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! This is my first foray into ColdFlash (and it's been a while since I wrote anything that wasn't RPS!), so I hope you'll be gentle with me. I honestly don't even know how this fandom sucked me in, but here I am! :) 
> 
> Anyway, this is canon fic but also blatantly AU, as shall become fairly obvious. Still, fair warning that Eddie is alive (yay!) and Earth-2 is not a Thing (yay?). As shall also be obvious, it veers even further from canon during Family of Rogues. I've tried to put thought into the canon divergences, though, so I hope it works for y'all!

Barry’s double-take is understandable. 

That doesn’t stop Len from being annoyed by it, and annoyed that Barry’s sticking his nose into things that aren’t his business — again. What makes it worse is that he can’t even hold onto his annoyance the way he wants to, because it’s swept away in a wash of relief that Barry’s there to help (something he isn’t going to examine too closely), and an equally strong wave of fear; he knows what Lewis Snart is capable of, and he doesn’t want Barry Allen dead (something he isn’t going to examine at all). 

Lucy, for her part, glances up very briefly when Barry walks in, and then goes back to her coloring book with the sort of very careful and deliberate inattention to the newcomer in their midst that has Len clenching his fists and dreaming of making Lewis Snart _bleed_. 

But then Lewis is there, and Barry is “Sam,” and Lucy is instructed to sit quietly and not move until they get back. She will, because she does what she’s told, instantly and obediently in the way that five year olds — _ones who aren’t Snarts_ , Len qualifies to himself — generally don’t. He can see the curiosity burning in Barry’s eyes, but at least he isn’t stupid enough to ask anything with Lewis there to overhear every word. 

“Sam” puts on a good show, and there’s more than a few moments when it occurs to Len that they could have made a good team; Barry’s abilities are extremely useful, as it turns out. 

And then everything goes to shit.

 _Sorry, Barry._ It’s so fucking inadequate, when the kid got himself killed for being too damn _good_ , for thinking that a couple of criminals were worth his time and refusing to be driven off. But it’s all Len can do; he can’t risk Lisa. He can’t risk _Lucy_ , who doesn’t deserve to be stuck with Lewis Snart for a father. 

He keeps a straight face, wearing Captain Cold like a disguise, even as he’s scrambling for a backup plan, hoping Cisco and Caitlin will still be willing to help Lisa even after… 

And then Barry’s back, suit on and “Sam” gone, and Len would ask _How?_ because that was a point-blank shot, is Barry really _that_ fast? But there’s no time for questions. There’s no time for anything except desperate hope that he can stall long enough, that somewhere in the depths of S.T.A.R. Labs they’re getting the fucking _bomb_ out of his sister’s neck and they’ll get it done soon enough that Len won’t have to watch Barry Allen die for a second time tonight. 

And then somehow, for once in his godforsaken life, hope actually wins out. He watches Lewis Snart die instead, and sinks to the floor as his chest loosens. 

It’s like exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, had been holding for days now. Ever since Lewis showed up. He looks at his father’s body and tries to feel anger, or sadness, or anything, but there’s nothing. All he feels is cold, and it’s not even the gun because the Flash has taken that from his hands.

“Lisa was _safe_ ; why did you do that?” 

Oh, how Len wishes it was that simple. Safe _for now_ , maybe, but never safe while Lewis Snart was somewhere in the world. And there’s more to think about than just himself and Lisa, now; an abrupt change from how he’s lived the vast majority of his life.

“Lucy wasn’t,” he says, and his voice does something he’s not happy with. It’s not Captain Cold. It doesn’t even sound like Leonard Snart. It’s _broken_ , and it makes the Flash pause, an uncharacteristic stillness coming over him. He breaks it to reach up to his ear, activating the microphone on his comm system. Len doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear.

“We’re okay,” he reports in a strangely calm voice, “We’ll head back to S.T.A.R. Labs soon.” 

Whatever he might have expected, that wasn’t it. Nor would he have expected the Flash to switch off his comm system, but that’s what he does, presumably after receiving confirmation.

Barry sits down next to him — more surprises — and sets the cold gun down on his other side. Neither of them looks at the other. Len can’t tell if Barry is looking at Lewis’ body or at the wall, and he’s not sure if he cares.

“Who is she?” Barry asks, “Is she … yours?” 

Len laughs, a harsh sound that echoes oddly around them. Of course Barry would think that. And from the outside maybe it makes sense, but.

“As medical science has not yet advanced to permit male pregnancy, it’s unlikely I’ll be fathering any children. She’s his,” Len jerks his head toward the body, forestalling whatever reaction Barry may have had to that bit of personal information. “My half-sister, I presume.” 

“You don’t know?” Barry asks after a pause.

“It may surprise you to learn,” Len scoffs, “but my father is not particularly fond of paper trails.” He pauses, corrects himself. “Was.”

“Right.” Barry shifts. “You killed him.” 

“I’m aware.” Len doesn’t know where this is going. Thinking rationally, he’s surprised he hasn’t already been whisked away to be handcuffed by the CCPD.

“I killed someone,” Barry says quietly. 

Len keeps very, very still through the long silence that follows, taking slow, even breaths. He doesn’t know what this is. A secret for a secret? A confession? If it’s a confession, it’s a pointless one — Leonard Snart is in no position to grant absolution. But then, maybe that _is_ the point.

“We need to hide it,” Barry says finally, and Len has to turn his head and look at him, not quite believing his ears. But Barry’s looking at the body, and then he turns and meets Len’s eyes, perfectly serious. “How? I could speed it out…?” he suggests, looking and sounding doubtful. 

Len has always looked a gift horse in the mouth, wanting to be prepared for the inevitable bite, but this time he can’t bring himself to. And he’s always been quick with plans, and contingencies.

“The janitor’s cart,” Len decides, and before he’s even finished the sentence, Barry’s back with it, the loose parts rattling from the sudden movement. He’s surprised the wheels aren’t smoking.

“Now what?” Barry asks, and Len tells him.

~*~

Barry does his best to avoid thinking about what he’s doing as they wheel Lewis Snart’s body out of the building the same way they’d come in, though the cart is much heavier this time around. His Flash suit is tucked away on the cart, but it’s a good thing that the security guards barely seem to notice them leaving because he’s not sure he could put his “Sam” persona back on with the knowledge of what he’s pushing around.

“They didn’t notice he wasn’t with us,” Barry comments as they load the body into the back of Snart’s van. He doesn’t exactly know why, other than that he tends to babble when he’s nervous. It turns out that disposing of a body makes him nervous.

“It’s always easier getting out than in,” Snart says as he closes the door and gestures for Barry to go around to the passenger side. _In for a penny,_ Barry figures. He’s already living in an alternate universe where he’s getting criminal advice from Captain Cold while helping him cover up a murder. 

_What am I doing?_ The fact that this is crazy crosses his mind about a thousand times a second as Snart maneuvers the van through Central City’s streets, keeping pace with the rest of traffic. He stops … back at the safe house where Barry had found him earlier, pulling into the alley and stopping the van.

Snart doesn’t move, and doesn’t turn the key to stop the engine. 

“What are we—“ Barry starts after a moment’s waiting. His leg is twitching involuntarily, too much energy and too many nerves making it even harder than usual to sit still.

“You don’t need to see the rest,” Snart cuts him off, turning his head just enough to give Barry a slanted look. “Better if you don’t know where the bodies are buried,” he adds, and Barry stares at him, mouth falling open.

“ _Bodies!?_ ” He knew Snart had killed before, but not that he had a— a _dumping ground_ somewhere. (Central City hasn’t had a serial killer since well before Barry joined the CCPD, but he’s watched _Dexter_ , okay.)

Snart smirks, that sardonic expression that Barry would have sworn was the only thing his face was capable of, before this. “Figure of speech, Barry,” he says, looking away, straight out the windshield.

Right. Barry feels his face heat as he looks down at his lap.

“I need you to stay with Lucy. We should have been back by now. And this will take a while.” 

Barry refrains from asking how Snart knows how long it takes to hide a body, just barely. Because thinking about it, he’s not sure he really wants to know the answer. And from the way Snart’s gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, he’s very sure that Snart doesn’t want to answer. 

There’s a part of him that worries whether it’s some kind of trick; if Snart’s trying to get him to walk into a trap. But there are two things he can be sure of, about Snart: that he cares more about his sister than anything else, and that he takes debts seriously. If it’s quid-pro-quo, then Snart knows how easily Barry could have had him in Iron Heights rather than idling in a van in a back alley. And if it’s his sister… Lisa’s safe and sound at S.T.A.R. Labs, but Snart apparently has another sister sitting in that building, and he was willing to kill his own father for one or both of them. 

It’s mostly gut instinct (and more trust than Snart deserves), but Barry clicks the release on his seatbelt.

“I’ll take care of her until you get back,” Barry promises, opening the door to hop out.

“Wear the suit,” Snart says, just as he’s about to close it again, and Barry stops, raising an eyebrow.

“You sure about that?” He asks.

“She doesn’t know you. But she likes the Flash.” It sounds like it pains Snart to even say it, and Barry’s so startled that he laughs, nerves forgotten for a second. He almost thinks he sees the corner of Snart’s mouth turn up into something that doesn’t look like a smirk, but it’s gone in an instant.

“Suit it is, then,” Barry agrees, and quick-changes into it. “Hurry back,” he says, feeling stupid the second it leaves his mouth, but Snart doesn’t take the opportunity to say something cutting, and Barry closes the door and takes a step back so Snart can pull away. He waits until the van is out of sight, taillights disappearing around a corner, before speeding back into the safehouse he’d left what felt like weeks ago, but was really less than an hour. 

Lucy is right where they left her, sitting on a torn-up old office chair, her coloring book and small box of crayons in front of her on a makeshift table composed of a piece of plywood thrown across whatever was handy and roughly the right height. 

She looks up, startled when he appears in a crackle of yellow lightning, her eyes wide and fearful. Barry hadn’t gotten much of a look at her before, but now he can see the resemblance to her half-siblings — dark hair with a bit of curl like Lisa’s, but she’s got her brother’s eyes. She clutches her crayon, holds herself tightly, like she’s braced for something, and flinches when he takes a step forward from the shadows. Barry thinks about Lisa’s shoulder and Snart’s voice when he told his father how he hated him. His heart aches, and he stands carefully still, trying to keep his stance relaxed and nonthreatening. 

“Hi, Lucy,” he says gently, “I’m the Flash,” and she gapes at him, eyes still wide but with more shock than fear. “Your brother asked me to come check on you,” he adds, hoping for something more than silence.

“Lenny did?” she asks in a quiet voice. Barry smiles at her, as warmly as he knows how. 

“Yeah, he did. He’s gonna be a bit longer coming back, so he asked me to keep you company. Is that okay?”

“Are you and Lenny friends?” she asks, and the question makes him pause, a slight hesitation that he hopes she doesn’t see.

“Yeah,” Barry says, certain he’s lying to a child but not entirely sure how he would even begin to explain what he and Leonard Snart are to each other. Especially to a five year old. “And I promised Lenny I’d look after you until he comes back, so he doesn’t have to worry about you.”

Lucy takes a moment to process this, thinking it over. “Okay,” she says finally, then holds out the crayon in her hand. “Do you want to color? I can share.”

“I would love to color,” Barry affirms, taking the chance to approach now that Lucy wasn’t cringing away from him. He finds a stool nearby; not in great condition but it doesn’t fall apart when places it next to Lucy’s chair and sits on it. It’s only once he’s seated that he really looks at the coloring book on the table. 

It’s … him. Or, a line drawing of the Flash, anyway, running across a blank background. Most of the suit is already filled in with red crayon, which skips outside the lines fairly frequently.

“Hey, that’s cool,” he says, looking at it, because it kind of is. “I didn’t know I was in a coloring book.” 

Lucy beams up at him, closing the book so he can see the front cover: _The Flash: Protector of Central City!_ is emblazoned on the front in large comic sans type, which is a little bit painful, across a lightning bolt logo. The bottom of the cover declares that the book purchase supports the 9th Street Soup Kitchen.

“Lenny got it for me!” Lucy declares proudly. “Do you want to color him? His picture is boring. I don’t like blue.” She turns to a page in the book that does, in fact, feature none other than Captain Cold, brandishing a gun that looks very little like the actual cold gun, and wearing an exaggerated evil sneer to go along with his parka and goggles.

“I would _love_ to color him,” Barry says honestly, trying not to laugh at the caricature. He takes over pulling the page out of the book when Lucy tries and fails to separate the perforated edge, so he can color the Captain Cold page while she keeps working on the picture of him. Lucy hands over the blue crayon with great solemnity, and he takes it with equal seriousness. Time to get to work.

~*~

Len catches himself rushing on the way back to the safehouse, forcing his foot off the gas multiple times to keep to a reasonable pace. The last thing he needs is to get pulled over for _speeding_ , of all the ironies. He’s anxious, even though there’s no way the pile of char and ash — _thanks, Mick_ — that used to be his father will ever be recognizable. 

He’s not terribly concerned that anyone is going to go looking for Lewis Snart, but there is a part of him that’s worried about what he’ll find when he gets back to the safehouse; or more specifically, if there will be anything to find. It occurred to him, as he watched the body burn, that it would be so easy for the Flash to scoop Lucy up and drop her off with CCCFS — well out of Len’s reach, unless he was willing to kidnap his own sister. (He _would_ be, but that’s beside the point.)

Instead, he sweeps aside the plastic curtain to find Lucy and the Flash, both with their heads curled over coloring pages, crayons in hand. 

“Working on a masterpiece there, Scarlet?” he drawls, and both of them look up at him at the same time. Barry’s expression can’t seem to settle on anything in particular, but Lucy grins broadly at him.

“Lenny! We’re coloring!” she says happily, then quite clearly catches herself, looking past Len’s shoulder to the plastic, anticipating Lewis’ arrival. Len steps across the room quickly and sweeps her up, crayon and all, and she wraps her thin arms around his neck securely.

“Luce, I need to tell you something important, okay?” he asks, and he notices Barry’s curiosity. His voice at the moment is probably nothing like Barry’s heard from him before; but then, Barry has known him as Captain Cold, criminal, not Leonard Snart, big brother. Barry can stuff his surprise that Len is capable of sounding warm where the sun don’t shine for all Len cares.

Lucy nods, still keeping an eye on the entryway. “Okay.”

“Lewis—,” he pauses. “Our father. He won’t be coming back.” That catches her attention fully back from the entry, her eyes wide and fearful when they meet his.

“Not _forever?_ ” she asks in a small voice that sounds like tears, and Len’s not sure what kind they’re going to be. “I’m gonna be _alone?_ ” And the tears come then, faster than Len can soothe them, her whole face red and her nose starting to run as she sobs.

“No, no, Luce, don’t cry,” he murmurs, letting her wipe her nose on his shirt even though it leaves a trail of glistening snot, surrounded by wet splotches of tears. He rubs her back gently, and turns just enough that he can pin Barry with a look, since he’s stood up like he’s ready to jump in and try to save the day somehow. This isn’t Barry’s problem to solve; this is about family.

“You’re not gonna be alone, I promise. I’m your big brother, remember? I’m gonna look after you. Would that be all right?”

Much more slowly than they started, her sobs turn to sniffles. “I can stay with you?” The question is only half intelligible, watery-voiced and mumbled against Len’s parka, but he can make it out.

“You can stay with me forever,” he finds himself promising, remembering Lisa’s face when he’d told her he was leaving and that she couldn’t come with him — the way she’d screamed and hit him and cried until her dollar-store mascara ran down her cheeks. _Never again._

It takes a while for Lucy to calm down, and Len spends all of it with her clinging to his neck like an octopus while he sways from one foot to the other slowly. By the time she’s fully done crying, she’s practically asleep, her head tucked into his shoulder. Which makes sense, given the hour. It’s late, and Lisa’s waiting for him. He imagines Cisco and Caitlin are waiting for Barry, as well.

“Can you gather up her things?” he asks Barry, quietly enough not to disturb Lucy.

“Yeah, no problem,” Barry says, and in about the same time it took to say it, he’s whipped through the space in a red and yellow blur and returned to the table with a child-sized pink backpack featuring the princesses from _Frozen_. Len waits for some kind of comment about that, but Barry’s not laughing. Instead he’s looking at the backpack with a strained expression.

“Is that it?” he asks, almost like he’s begging Len to reveal that Lucy’s got a whole bedroom full of clothes and toys hidden away somewhere. Len just nods; pleasant surprises and Lewis Snart were never things that went together.

“Don’t forget the coloring book,” he says, and Barry picks it and the crayons up and packs them away in the backpack with the kind of care normally reserved for priceless antiquities. He carries Lucy’s things all the way out to the van, staying a step behind Len the whole way. It’s almost unnerving, with him still in the Flash suit but moving at a normal, non-meta-human pace. Barry gets the door so Len can settle Lucy in the backseat of the van, her head resting on the folded pile of Barry’s “Sam” outfit. 

Len’s perfectly aware of the fact that Barry could speed over to S.T.A.R. Labs and arrive well ahead of him, maybe warn his little team what was headed their way. Instead, he climbs up into the passenger seat of the van, and Len isn’t sure what to read into that. Probably nothing. It’s just as convenient to ride along.

They’re halfway to S.T.A.R. Labs when Barry finally opens his mouth to speak, the only other sounds the noise of the engine and Lucy’s soft, babyish snores from the back seat. “So. You bought her a Flash coloring book, huh?” 

Len catches the smile playing at the edges of Barry’s lips when he glances over, and something about it makes him feel almost reckless. 

“I can always change my mind about killing you, Barry,” he threatens, realizing only after it’s hanging in the air between them that Barry could take it the wrong way. He’s not Lisa, or even Mick; he’s not used to the way Len operates.

There is a short, stunned pause, but then Barry’s laughing and grinning at him across the console, eyes bright, and Len’s grip on the wheel relaxes minutely. 

Okay, then.

When they finally pull up to the entrance, alongside Lisa’s parked motorcycle, Barry moves to take the backpack again, but Len shakes his head. 

“Leave it,” he says, because he has no intention of sticking around any longer than he has to. Even with that firmly established, however, he can’t leave Lucy in the van, because he refuses to let her wake up alone in a strange place. She rouses a little when he picks her up, enough to cooperate in getting her situated on his hip, opposite to the cold gun. She could kick it, or, more likely, he could have to draw it in a hurry. Better to have that hand as free as possible.

Barry leads the way down the hallways to their little control room, and Len lets him even though he’s found his own way there before. Best not to remind Team Flash of that, though, and it’s not as if he objects to the view.

“Finally!” Cisco shouts as soon as they walk in, with Caitlin right behind him, asking, “What took you so long?” in a slightly calmer voice. Len lets them intercept Barry, scanning the room and quickly spotting Lisa, looking pale and exhausted. The visible relief on her face as soon as she spots him hits like a punch; a physical ache beneath his ribs.

Of course, the relief is replaced by confusion a split-second later, which is about the time that Cisco and Caitlin notice him as well.

“Is that a _kid_? He has a _kid_?” Cisco actually points, but he’s looking at Barry for answers, not Len. Still.

“Very observant, Mr. Ramon,” Len drawls. “But wrong, I’m afraid.” He turns his back on the scientists, and looks Lisa straight in the eye. “As it turns out, we have a sister,” he tells her, and only her, though it’s clear that Team Flash is listening in. Not actually very good about secrecy, those three. 

Lisa’s face goes tight, and he can see her withdraw behind the emotionless shell he taught her to construct, years and years ago. She practically runs from the room, somewhere down the hall. Len closes his eyes and sighs, and doesn’t even have to re-open them before he orders, “Stop.” 

Cisco was already three steps gone, but he freezes in place, eyes on the cold gun as if Len needed it for this.

“I’ll take care of my sister,” he says, injecting as much ice into his voice as he can. There will be no arguments. “Barry.” 

Barry actually startles, and Caitlin glances down the hallway like she’s worried Lisa is lurking there, or perhaps that she acquired enhanced hearing in the last two minutes. 

“Uh. Yeah?” Barry asks awkwardly, then, “I mean, what, Snart?” he tries again, and is seemingly more satisfied the second time around. Len rolls his eyes and ignores the way Barry glares at him for it, instead jerking his head down at an angle, toward Lucy.

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” he’s a blur for the span of a blink, or maybe less, then he’s standing right in front of Len, reaching out to take her. They somehow manage to orchestrate the transfer of Lucy from Len’s hip to Barry’s with minimal difficulty, other than a very brief stutter in Barry’s motions when he seems to realize how close they are.

“I’m not going to _shank_ you,” Len deadpans quietly, though it seems not to do much good, since Barry jerks again, turning slightly red as he accepts Lucy’s weight. “Not my style,” he adds, for little reason at all, but it gets Barry to huff out a tiny, snorting laugh.

“Yeah, I know. Go talk to Lisa; we’ll be fine,” he assures Len with a smile that looks forced, and the fiercely protective part of Len wants to snatch Lucy back, but it quiets when Barry turns his gaze toward Lucy’s sleeping face and his smile turns into something warm and soft. 

Len can’t stand to look at it.

He goes to find Lisa.

It turns out she didn’t go far; just down the hall and into what looks like a workroom of some kind. Len quickly catalogues what he sees; not much that makes any real impression at the moment, but you can never be sure what might be helpful in the future. 

“Lenny, what the _hell_ ,” Lisa snaps at him. Her arms are wrapped right around her, every muscle tense despite the way she’s leaning against a table with her hip. “You know he won’t let you get away with—“

“He’s dead.” Len says flatly, watching the way the news hits her, like static making every hair stand on end. There’s bright red blood seeping through the bandage on her neck, and Len wishes he’d drawn it out more; he could have made Lewis _really_ suffer. But then, if he had, he would probably be in handcuffs right now, not standing here to tell Lisa the news in person. There’s still fear in her eyes, the kind that only Lewis had ever been able to inspire, and apprehension.

“How?” she asks, and he gestures to the cold gun at his side.

“I iced his heart. It seemed… fitting.”

Her eyes narrow, and she nods. 

“You can check with Mick, if you like. I’d show you the body but it’s currently a pile of ash.” 

“That’s why it took so long?” Lisa asks, always quick to put two and two together. “Wait.” She looks at him in disbelief. “You mean _he helped you_? Why?” 

Len could play dumb, but there’s only one _he_ that Lisa’s referring to, at the moment. “Not directly,” he hedges. He doesn’t like keeping secrets from Lisa, but there’s no good way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand. “We came to an agreement,” Len decides on finally.

“The same kind of _agreement_ where you won’t tell me who he is?” She gripes, angry for form’s sake more than anything else. Lisa hates not knowing what those around her do; Len’s the same way — ignorance is vulnerability. But she’ll make exceptions for family. They both will.

“The very same,” he says, cutting off the line of inquiry. But he steps forward anyway, opening his arms just enough to make it an invitation. Lisa folds against him like they’re kids again, huddling in the dark with only each other for support. 

“He’s really dead?” she whispers, and Len holds her tightly and rests his chin in her hair. 

“Cross my heart.”

~*~

With his enhanced strength, holding Lucy isn’t difficult at all, even though she’s just dead weight against Barry’s hip. Unfortunately, that means Barry doesn’t have a plausible escape route when Cisco and Caitlin round on him the second Snart leaves the room, eyeing the little girl in his arms like she might explode at any moment.

Wait. Bad metaphor. 

Barry makes his brain restart, this time without horrifying thoughts of _Lucy_ with one of those bombs in her head, images that make Barry clutch her too tightly. It’s not like he’s known her long, but he knows she doesn’t like the color blue and thinks the Flash is pretty great but “Lenny” is the best. And he knows enough about the man she was living with to want to keep her safe and spoil her rotten.

“That’s their _sister_?” Caitlin looks gobsmacked. “But isn’t their father kind of…?”

“Old as balls,” Cisco fills in, the information on Lewis Snart still readily available in the S.T.A.R. Labs systems. Barry glances at the birth date. In the second half of his 60s, anyway. “Guess he’s not too old to make babies.”

“Ugh.” Barry makes a face at that. 

Caitlin hurls a pen at Cisco’s head, which he dodges by about an inch. “I didn’t need that mental image, Cisco,” she complains, but settles back into seriousness a moment later. “What _happened_ , Barry?” she asks, “And where’s Lewis? Did he get the diamonds?”

 _Crap._ Barry had actually completely forgotten about the diamonds, which he assumed were somewhere in one of Lewis’ pockets. Then again, knowing Snart, they were somewhere in his pockets, now. Oh, well.

“He’s gone,” Barry says after a moment, then chokes on what to say next. 

“Gone? What, he got away?” Cisco sounds incredulous, and Barry can’t blame him. How was it so easy to be Sam, and yet he’s stuck racking his brains for a decent story that’s even mildly believable?

“The diamonds!” Barry blurts out a moment later, with his out-loud voice despite the fact that it should have been an inner-voice realization. He covers as fast as he can. “Snart made him a deal, after you guys got the bomb out of Lisa. He takes the diamonds and gets out of town for good, and Snart keeps Lucy.”

Caitlin’s eyes narrow, and Barry tenses, waiting for the cards to fall, but when she speaks, her gathering anger isn’t directed at him. “He just _sold_ his own daughter?”

“Well. It’s not like he was ever in the running for father of the year.” When Cisco speaks, his voice is quiet, and his eyes are far away. In the room down the hall, Barry thinks, with Lisa Snart. He’s not sure how he feels about that. But then, after tonight he probably can’t point fingers when it comes to the Snarts.

Caitlin deflates at that. “Yeah. Good point.”

“Anyway, it took a while to get rid of him,“ — _so to speak_ , Barry thinks, doing his best not to wince— “and pick up Lucy.”

“So we’re just gonna let him take her?” Caitlin asks, “Hand a little girl over to Captain Cold?” Barry didn’t think about the possibility that Caitlin or Cisco would have a problem with it. It seemed obvious to him, at the time. It still does.

“The only thing he cares about is his sister,” Cisco says, rejoining the conversation. “If that extends to this one, too… I don’t think he’ll hurt her.” The fact that Cisco is rejoining the conversation on Barry’s — well, really _Snart’s_ — side is kind of surprising, but Barry will take backup where he can find it. He really has no desire to find out what Snart is willing to do, if they threaten to take Lucy away at this point.

Barry wants to tell them about the coloring book, and about the way Snart’s voice changed when he talked to Lucy. About how far he was willing to go to make sure she stayed safe and out of their father’s hands. But he keeps his tongue still and holds Lucy securely while Caitlin and Cisco go back and forth, finally settling on a policy of _wait and see_.

It’s not long after that that Snart and Lisa re-emerge, both looking a bit worse for the wear. Lisa sticks close to her brother’s side; closer than usual. Barry gets the impression she’d be leaning on him, if they were alone.

“We should go,” Snart says to the room at large, his face impassive, but he’s looking right at Barry. Or maybe at Lucy, more accurately. It’s hard to tell.

“You’ll need to come in for follow-up!” Caitlin interjects, and it takes a moment for Barry to parse that she’s talking to Lisa, and more as Dr. Snow than as Caitlin. Lisa lifts a hand to touch the bandage on her neck lightly. While her attention is taken up with making arrangements, Snart takes a few steps forward, heading for Barry and Lucy. 

“I’ve got her,” Barry says quickly, and Snart stops and gives him an intense look, tilting his head like Barry’s just done something interesting. “I can carry her out, I mean,” he clarifies, but the way Snart smirks at him seems to indicate that it didn’t help much.

“Have it your way, Scarlet,” Snart says, nodding his head toward the exit and stepping back to clear the path. Despite the open space in the cortex, Snart somehow manages to leave just barely enough room for Barry to pass, and his arm brushes against Snart’s parka on his way. 

“You’ll be here to see me in the morning, won’t you, Cisco?” Lisa is saying, well within Cisco’s personal space as usual, but her voice is strained, like she’s trying too hard to be herself, and he doesn’t seem as flustered as usual. 

“Of course,” Cisco says, “I’ll bring you coffee,” without stuttering at all, and Barry’s oddly proud of him for it. Despite the fact that he should probably be opposed to whatever is going on there, given that Lisa Snart is as much a criminal as her brother. But as she flashes Cisco a smile and purrs, “My hero,” as he blushes, Barry thinks that whatever unwritten rules they’ve all been playing by have been suspended for tonight.

Snart and Lisa follow behind Barry as he carries Lucy out of the cortex and out to where Snart’s van is parked. There’s a part of him that stays on high alert, edgy with both of them at his back, even though he knows the likelihood that either of them will try anything is miniscule. Maybe even nonexistent, which is a strange realization given how determined he was to never trust Captain Cold again, after what happened at Ferris Air. 

Lisa climbs onto her bike, pulling her helmet on, gunning the engine, and peeling away before Snart even gets the door of the van open. 

“Is she all right?” Barry asks as he lays Lucy down on the bench seat, careful with her head but glancing up and back at Snart.

“She will be,” Snart says after a moment, closing the door firmly but as quietly as possible, for all that it seems to matter. Lucy slept straight through Lisa’s rather loud departure without even stirring.

“Okay,” Barry says, not completely convinced. He shuffles awkwardly, boots scraping against the asphalt. He glances at the polarized window of the van, seeing nothing but his own shadowy reflection in the glass. “Look, if you need anything,” he starts, then stops as Snart raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Anything, hmm?” If Lisa purrs like a cat then Snart rumbles like a panther, deep and dangerous. Barry swallows thickly and tries to remember that they both have claws. 

“I did have my eye on the exhibit opening up at the museum next month,” Snart continues, and it’s bizarre how only one night in relatively close company is enough for Barry to realize that the particular set of his face, the way his ever-present smirk curls just a tiny bit more at the edges, means he’s teasing. 

Captain Cold is _teasing_ him, and far from making him angry, it makes something swoop in Barry’s stomach, makes him smile. “You know what I meant,” he says, with no heat in it. 

“I do know what you meant,” Snart acknowledges, and gives no further indication of how he feels about the offer, or whether he at all intends to take Barry up on it. 

“Right,” Barry says, Snart does nothing but look at him for the next few seconds. He feels a bit like a zoo animal, if zoo animals were capable of flushing from being under such close scrutiny. “Good night,” he says as he starts to move away from the van, back into S.T.A.R. Labs to change out of the Flash suit and head home. 

“Barry.” 

Snart’s voice stops him first, but when he turns back Snart’s in his space, and then his hand is wrapping around the back of Barry’s neck, pulling him in close to the other man, so close he almost stumbles. They’re nearly the same height, so it doesn’t take much for Snart to bring their heads together, and Barry feels a bolt of something like panic shoot through him in the split-second that his brain processes that _Snart likes men_ and _is he going to—?_ but then their temples are pressed together, a layer of tripolymer between them, and Barry’s nose is close to Snart’s ear. He breathes in without thinking about it, inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne or maybe aftershave; a bit spicy and a bit like the air after a frost. It’s … nice, actually.

“Thank you,” Snart says, his voice thick and rough and no louder than a whisper. 

Then he’s gone, backing away all at once so Barry’s left with nothing but the lingering feeling of his hand and the wash of cooler air across his chest, where Snart’s open parka is no longer threatening to swallow him up. Snart doesn’t look at him again, not as he climbs into the van or as he drives away, but Barry finds himself standing there, slightly stunned, until long after the vehicle is out of sight. 

When he finally goes back inside, speeding out of the Flash suit and into his regular clothes, Cisco and Caitlin both look as adrift as he feels, and he finds himself collapsing into one of the chairs. He’s starting to get hungry; he should go home and eat something before… shit, before he has to be at work in a couple of hours. 

“So, are we friends with the Snarts now?” Caitlin asks, equal parts sarcastic and genuinely confused. Cisco only shrugs, and Barry sighs, meeting each of their eyes in turn, then looking up at the ceiling, as if it could provide the answers.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he says, and feels bad that it’s probably the most honest he’s been with them all night.


	2. The Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I am the absolute WORST for leaving this hanging for months on end, but in my defense, not only is 2L year a hideous thing that should be avoided at all cost, but I got about halfway through this chapter and then got majorly stuck and rewrote a bunch of it multiple times before I finally got it right. Thank you all so much for the kind comments on chapter 1! I really appreciated all of them, even though I am a loser who is bad at replying. ♥ Here's hoping chapter 3 takes less time... /o\
> 
> Many thanks to flyingwide for looking this over for me! You're the best! *mwah*

Barry doesn’t think anything of opening the door when someone rings the bell at around ten in the morning on his day off — a _real_ day off, no work and no Flash business to worry about. He shoves a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, holding the spoon between his teeth and the bowl with one hand so he can pull the door open and probably take the package from the UPS guy or whatever.

On the other side of the doorway, Leonard Snart does not seem particularly impressed with Barry’s multitasking.

“What,” Barry says intelligently. It comes out garbled around a mouthful of Froot Loops and spoon. He lets go of the door in order to take the spoon out of his mouth. “What are you doing here?” he demands, because this is _Joe’s house_. It’s so incredibly off-limits, no matter how they’ve stretched the terms of their truce. It doesn’t particularly help that Barry’s currently wearing a pair of red plaid pajama pants and nothing else.

Of course, Snart doesn’t appear to have the cold gun anywhere on him. He’s not even wearing his parka — just dark jeans and a black henley, unbuttoned at the throat. And his only accessory appears to be Lucy, hiding behind his legs like a small, very pink shadow.

“I need you to babysit.” Snart says bluntly, with a bit of prickle in his voice that says he’s fully expecting Barry to argue with him. Over Snart’s shoulder, across the street, Barry can see one of his neighbors on the sidewalk, ostensibly walking their dog but very clearly slowing to observe whatever’s going on. Or maybe just to gawk at Snart’s motorcycle, gleaming dangerously in the morning sun.

“I am not awake enough for this,” Barry groans, but swings the door wide and steps out of the way.

“Take your shoes off,” Snart tells Lucy, who drops her _Frozen_ backpack on the floor of the entryway and plops down. She’s wearing a pink motorcycle helmet — which comes off before the sneakers do — along with a pink shirt with a pony on it, a pink skirt, and pink and black striped leggings. The sneakers are also pink.

Barry has officially entered the Twilight Zone.

“What do you mean you need me to _babysit_?” he demands, turning on Snart as soon as the door clicks shut, blocking out prying neighborly ears.

“Surely you understand the concept,” Snart drawls, and Barry rolls his eyes.

“I understand the _concept_ just fine. What I don’t understand is why you’re _standing in Joe’s house_ asking me to do it.”

“I promise I’ll be good!” Lucy interjects from the floor, where she’s apparently run into trouble with the laces on one of her shoes. Snart’s down on one knee quickly, sorting out the knot that’s managed to form. “Thank you,” Lucy says politely as he finishes getting the shoe off for her.

“Why don’t you go sit at the table?” Snart suggests to her, and she hops up and scampers in that direction, until he calls out, “Take your backpack!” She nearly slips on the wood floor in her socks, but recovers and comes back to take the bag that Snart holds out for her. She’s slightly too short for Joe’s dining chairs, and has to hop up once she’s tugged a chair out slightly.

Barry sighs and moves back into the kitchen, where he’d been happily enjoying his cereal in peace only a few brief moments before. He drops the bowl on the counter and runs a hand through his hair. Not like he can make it any worse than the bedhead he already had going.

Snart followed him into the kitchen, but Barry didn’t expect the intensity of the gaze that meets him when he turns to continue the conversation, leaning back against the cabinets. There must be a draft, because Barry finds himself shivering as goosebumps prickle down his arms and chest. His nipples tighten, and Snart is _staring_ — Barry crosses his arms over his chest.

“My eyes are up here,” he mumbles, flushed with embarrassment. Not that he should be embarrassed, given that he’s not the one barging into someone’s house at ten in the morning, demanding that they babysit.

Snart licks his lips before answering, a slow slide of his tongue. Barry swallows the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat and focuses very hard on looking straight at Snart’s eyes and nowhere else.

“Lisa’s out of town, and I have business to take care of,” he says, and whatever weirdness was happening there, it’s gone at that.

“I’m not going to watch your sister while you _steal things_ ,” Barry hisses, keeping his voice low for the benefit of the five year old sitting one room away.

“Not that kind of business,” Snart says, and Barry gives him his most disbelieving look. Snart sighs and taps out a rhythm on the countertop with his fingertips, a quick syncopation, clearly annoyed at having to provide more information. “We’re moving into a new condo and Lisa can’t babysit because she’s out of town.”

“You bought a condo?” Barry asks, incredulous.

Snart glowers at him, raising an eyebrow slightly as if Barry has just said something incredibly stupid, and it occurs to Barry that ‘bought’ may be an overly generous term for Snart’s …acquisition.

“Not that you can’t buy a condo. Of course you can,” Barry says quickly, “You just … don’t seem like a condo guy. That’s all.” He hadn’t actually put much thought into whether Leonard Snart was a condo guy or not, but it sounds true enough as it comes out of his mouth. And it’s better than thinking about how he probably _should_ be reporting _something_ to the police and yet is still standing there, absolutely not doing anything of the sort.

“I’m meeting my moving crew in twenty-three minutes, so are you going to look after her or do I need to tell Mick to stop loading boxes and look after her for the day?” Snart finally asks, and Barry’s brain screeches to an abrupt halt.

“You are _not_ going to let Heat Wave babysit,” he says flatly.

“So you’ll do it,” Snart translates, and Barry can’t even bring himself to pretend it’s not accurate.

“You are _so_ lucky Joe’s working today,” he informs Snart, who’s already on his way over to the table where Lucy is sitting, a picture book out in front of her.

“I’ll be back later,” Snart says, and she lifts her arms for what’s clearly an expected hug. “Be good for Barry.”

“Okay,” she agrees easily enough, “Bye, Lenny.”

“Bye, Lucy-bell,” he says, pressing a kiss into her hair. He glances at Barry, as if expecting something — mocking, maybe? Barry smiles tentatively, and Snart looks away.

Then he’s gone, and Barry’s alone with a soggy bowl of cereal he never got to finish and Lucy looking at him with big blue eyes.

“Well,” he says, not entirely sure where he’s going with it.

Luckily, Lucy’s got him covered.

“Do you have Bubble Guppies on your TV?”

~*~

As it turns out, Joe’s cable package is pretty good, and they do, in fact, get Bubble Guppies, which Barry has never heard of but makes Lucy squeal with excitement. The kids’ shows Lucy likes are weirdly engaging, full of bright colors and catchy little songs, and by the time a few episodes have gone by, Barry admits defeat and puts down the stack of back-issues of _Scientific American_ he’d been planning to speed-read during his day off, and had been trying to read at a non-speedster pace while Lucy watched TV.

He’s actually a little bit disappointed when the show changes to something else, clearly aimed at older kids than Lucy.

“I’m hungry,” she announces, quickly losing interest, and turning on him with her big blue eyes. A look at the clock confirms that it is, in fact, lunchtime; a few minutes after noon. Barry has absolutely no idea what to feed her. Joe’s fridge is mostly full of high-protein things to feed Barry’s voracious metabolism, and he has a feeling Lucy won’t be very pleased with a lunch made up of hard-boiled eggs and macadamia nuts. …Actually, Barry wouldn’t be too pleased with that, either. He definitely isn’t feeding her chocolate for lunch, even though he’s got plenty of that around in case he screws up and his blood sugar starts to plummet.

He turns to look at Lucy, who’s climbed up onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and was quietly observing him dig through the fridge, then on a whim, opens the freezer. _Jackpot._

“How do you feel about pizza?” he asks, and fights the urge to cover his ears at the excited shout he gets before he’s barely gotten the word out.

“Yeah! Pizza! Pizza pizza pizza!” Lucy bounces so hard she nearly falls off her chair, and Barry grins as he pulls out the box. Then, thinking about it, he grabs a few other things from the fridge as well, setting them on the counter before switching the oven on and retrieving a baking sheet from the cabinets.

Lucy stares at the celery, her small nose wrinkled in disgust. “Is that for the pizza?” she asks, glancing at him as if suddenly suspicious of his motives. He laughs as he puts the frozen pie on the baking sheet and sets it on the stovetop to wait for the oven to pre-heat.

“Nope. The pizza is pepperoni,” Barry promises, holding up the box so she can inspect it. “The rest of this is for ants on a log.”

“ _Ants?_ ” Her nose scrunches up again, and Barry winks at her.

“Trust me,” he says, and twists the lid off the peanut butter.

Ants on a log are a huge hit, thankfully, and munching on the snacks fills up the minutes until the pizza is done.

Barry demolishes his slices in what would be record time for most people, but is agonizingly slow by his own standards, then covertly scarfs down one of Cisco’s powerbars as a booster — even a kid as young as Lucy would notice that it was weird how much Barry could eat at a sitting. Lucy herself, though, takes her time meticulously peeling off each slice of pepperoni from her pizza and collecting them in a pile on the plate, then peeling bits of the cheese off with her fingers to eat.

Half an hour later, once Barry has been blackmailed into providing a chocolate bar in exchange for the consumption of the remaining pepperoni and crust, he makes a mental note to put mac & cheese on Joe’s next shopping list, just in case.

~*~

Joe calls at a little after four in the afternoon, which is long enough for Barry to have been thoroughly educated about the Fresh Beat Band and the fact that Lucy wants her own “allegro skates” so she can _go fast like the Flash!_ (…Which he may or may not be planning to tease Snart about at the first available opportunity.) He has to take a break from dancing around the living room to answer, leaving Lucy to continue getting her groove on by herself.

“Joe, what’s up?” he asks, sliding into the kitchen to hear better over the sound of the TV and tensing, wondering what he’s going to do with Lucy if the police need him to come in — or, possibly worse, if they need the Flash. At least Barry Allen has a habit of being late; the Flash can’t afford to be.

“Hey, Barr!” Joe’s upbeat voice loosens the tension and alleviates Barry’s worries in a second. “We caught a break on the Alvarado case, so I’m headed home; what do you think about steaks on the grill for dinner?” Barry smiles, even though Joe can’t see it. A master chef, Joe is not, but he _can_ cook a pretty mean steak when he puts his mind to it, and a summer cookout is just the kind of normalcy Barry hasn’t had a lot of, recently.

“Yeah, Joe, that sounds good,” he says on instinct, then wants to kick himself, glancing at Lucy, who’s thankfully not paying him any attention at the moment. _Shit._ “I was actually just about to run out; do you want me to pick up the steaks?” he offers, scrambling for a plan. Maybe he can get Snart to meet him somewhere; hand off Lucy without Joe being the wiser? It’s the best he’s got to work with; Lucy’s too young to really understand secrecy on a scale that would escape Joe West, and Barry really doesn’t want to explain what he’s doing babysitting Captain Cold’s kid sister on his day off. Mostly because he doesn’t entirely understand the reasons himself.

“Any chance I can get you to pick ‘em up from Leandro’s?” Joe asks slyly, and Barry rolls his eyes and laughs.

“Leandro’s in Opal City? Yeah, sure, why not,” he agrees; it’s not like it’ll take him long. And the steaks _are_ worth it, especially when you’ve got superspeed on your side. “But you’re picking up the sweet corn,” Barry bargains, knowing that it’ll keep Joe away from the house at least a while longer — it’ll probably buy him an extra half-hour, all-in.

“Deal. I’ll probably be home in about an hour. That gonna be enough time?” Joe jokes, and Barry forces himself to laugh.

“Maybe,” he counters, doing his best to match Joe’s tone. Joe still sounds amused as they hang up, so Barry figures he was at least marginally successful.

His phone screen hasn’t even gone dark before he realizes that there’s one major flaw in his half-thought-out plan to meet somewhere and hand Lucy over. Namely, that he has no idea how to contact Leonard Snart, short of running through every street in Central (and maybe even Keystone) trying to track him down; not a completely terrible option, except that even at his speed it could take a while, and he’s not going to leave Lucy alone to do it.

Time for Plan B.

“Hey, Lucy?” Barry asks, thankful that the show is on a commercial break so it’s easy to get her attention as he walks back into the living room, “Did Lenny give you an emergency number? If you needed to call him?”

“There’s an ‘mergency?” Lucy asks, instantly forgetting the TV and running to Barry so fast she nearly trips over the edge of the rug, the “e” in “emergency” lost somewhere in the shuffle. She grabs his hand like it’s something she’s been trained to do, and maybe she has been.

“No, no, there’s no emergency,” _depending on how you define ‘emergency’_ , Barry thinks. “I just need to call your brother real quick, and I don’t have his number in my phone,” he explains, hoping that she won’t question why that’s something he doesn’t have, since he and “Lenny” are such good friends. His luck holds that far, at least.

Lucy brightens and lets go of Barry’s hand, scrambling for her backpack. “I have it in my phone!” she announces proudly, fishing out what looks like a brand-new, high-end smartphone, wrapped in an extremely bright pink, industrial-strength case that looks like it wouldn’t crack even if Barry wound up and pitched it against a wall at speed. Lucy looks at him expectantly as she hands it over, but he doesn’t quite know how this call is going to go.

“Can I borrow this while you watch your show?” he asks seriously, looking her in the eye, and she nods back just as seriously. “I promise to take good care of it and put it back in your backpack when I’m done, okay?” he says, and that’s enough for her to be content to run back to her show when the commercials end, her “Yep!” floating in the air between the dining and living rooms.

There are only two contacts saved in Lucy’s phone: “Lenny” with an emoji of a smiling man, and “Lisa” with an emoji of a smiling woman. Lucy’s reading is pretty good for her age, Barry has figured out, but it’s probably harder when both names start with the same letter.

The phone rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Snart’s voice sweet like warm honey, and Barry’s stomach does a flip as that warmth rushes through him, tingling along his spine.

“Uh, it’s me, actually,” he fumbles, glad Snart’s on the other end of the phone and can’t mock him for how red his face is.

“Barry? What’s wrong?” and there’s the Snart he’s used to, cold and commanding — and scared, Barry realizes after half a second.

“Nothing!” he rushes, and it comes out sounding like the most obvious lie, which it only sort of is. “Well, okay, something is wrong but Lucy’s _fine_ , she’s watching TV. It turns out we get the Disney channel,” he adds, unnecessarily.

It’s amazing how he can feel Snart staring at him, even through the phone. Probably making a _get to the point_ gesture with his elegant hands that Barry has absolutely never noticed.

“Joe’s coming home early,” he says in a rush. There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.

“Mardon, _stop putting the kitchen boxes in the living room_ ,” is the first response he gets, slightly muffled, followed shortly thereafter by, “How long?”

“An hour at most. I thought we could meet you somewhere—” Barry answers automatically, then everything actually processes. “Wait, _Mardon_? As in _Mark_ Mardon? You expect me to believe the _Weather Wizard_ is helping you _move_?” Barry hisses, hoping his voice doesn’t carry to the next room.

“He owes me a favor.”

“For helping him escape.” Barry says flatly. _For stabbing me in the back,_ he thinks at the same time, and that curdles something inside. Barry glances over to make sure Lucy’s still on the couch, now engrossed in the adventures of Jake and the Neverland Pirates. He’s taking care of Snart’s sister while Snart cashes in favors with criminals who’d happily kill Barry given the chance, and it feels oily and twisted and wrong, coiling dangerously under his ribs.

“Yes.” Snart acknowledges simply, then muffled again, “It’s the babysitter, and _nobody_ gets any beer until all the boxes are in the right rooms so get the hell outta my fridge, Mick.”

Barry breathes quietly, in and out, willing the strangeness to settle, so he jumps when his phone vibrates loudly on the table a moment later. There’s a text message notification, with an address.

“You have my number?” Barry asks into Lucy’s phone, still staring at his own. Then he parses the address on the screen, which. “This is like, two blocks from the CCPD,” he realizes out loud.

“Near the right schools,” Snart drawls sarcastically, then he pauses. “Will that be a problem?” The question itself is bland, but Snart’s tone breathes layers into it. Records erased or no, the CCPD Metahuman Taskforce would love to get their hands on Captain Cold — despite him not actually being a meta. And Heat Wave. And the Weather Wizard. Maybe more. All in the same place at the same time. Barry could be in the suit and have them rounded up, probably by the time the police arrived.

“Can I change the clicker?” Lucy calls out from the living room, holding up the remote so Barry can see it from where he’s standing. He pulls the phone away from his ear.

“Bubble Guppies?” he guesses, and she nods and says, “Yesplease!” the words running together.

“It’s channel two, five, seven,” Barry tells her, watching as she carefully presses the number buttons on the remote. The channel on the TV successfully switches to Nick Jr., and Barry puts the phone back to his ear.

Snart is quiet on the other end, and Barry realizes he never answered his question. In the living room, Lucy starts to sing along with the show, slightly out of sync and off-key.

_”Bub bub bubble! Gup gup guppies!”_

“No. No problem,” Barry says finally.

“Good. Give me half an hour to clear everyone out.”

“Okay,” Barry agrees; that’s doable on the bus, which is his only option with Lucy in tow, other than calling Cisco or Caitlin to see if they could give him a lift. But then, he’s pretty sure he’s now in possession of Snart’s home address, and likewise pretty sure that Snart doesn’t want it shared. There’s a small part of Barry that wants to say _the hell with it_ , because since when has Snart cared what _Barry_ wanted? But then again, Snart knows who he is, and where he lives, and could have told any number of angry metahumans in the Gem Cities. Based on the fact that Barry’s still alive, and his friends are still alive, and so far no angry metas have shown up at his front door, Snart seems to have kept it to himself. Leonard Snart may not be _good_ , exactly, Barry thinks, but he’s _honorable_ in his own way, which is something.

“See you soon, Scarlet,” Snart says, just a little bit of that honey dripping golden in his voice again, and Barry can’t quite tell if the nickname is meant to be a mockery or an endearment, but it’s doing interesting things to his midsection either way.

“Uh, yeah,” he manages to get out, not sure how to reply, but the call is already dead. Barry stares at his phone for a moment, not entirely sure what’s going on. Other than the high probability that he’s imagining things. He shakes it off.

“Hey, Lucy? It’s time to pack up your stuff,” he instructs, slipping her cell phone back into her backpack and his own into his pocket.

He’s expecting argument — maybe even tears — given the fact that her show just started, but Lucy only looks mournfully at the television before clicking it off with the remote, placing it gently on the coffee table before heading into the dining room to put away her crayons.

“Are we going to the new house?” she asks after a moment, as Barry helps her get her coloring books arranged neatly in her bag.

“I think so,” he says, fairly confident that’s the case but not certain.

“Lenny said I’m gonna have a _princess bed_!” she confides as she zips up her bag, her small face full of wonder and hope. Barry sort of wants to hug her, but he’s not sure how it would go over, so he settles for looking appropriately impressed.

“A princess bed? Wow! That’s pretty cool.”

Lucy nods seriously. “It’s gonna have _curtains_ ,” she says, “Lenny let me pick it out.”

Barry smiles at that, suddenly picturing the two of them looking at princess beds — online, maybe? He can’t quite stretch his imagination enough to imagine Captain Cold picking out children’s furniture in a store. Well, maybe he can. At least, he can imagine the withering glares any unfortunate sales staff would have been subjected to.

“I love Lenny,” Lucy says quietly, with far less enthusiasm than she had when declaring her love of Bubble Guppies or pizza. She says it like it _hurts_ , and Barry finds himself reaching out and gently carding his fingers through the hair on top of her head, the way his mom used to do when he woke up after a nightmare.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, letting the hand fall when Lucy turns her head to look at him. Her lip is starting to wobble, and Barry is abruptly worried that he’s going to be in over his head, here.

“Lenny’s gonna be there, right? He didn’t leave?”

Barry blinks in surprise. “Of course he’s going to be there!” He can imagine Leonard Snart doing many things, but abandoning Lucy is absolutely not one of them. “He wouldn’t leave you.”

Lucy sniffs, her eyes wet. “Mommy left. And Daddy, and Aunt Lisa.” The tears start to fall, then, and Barry can’t stop himself from gathering Lucy up in his arms and holding her close.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs as she wets the shoulder of his S.T.A.R. Labs t-shirt. “I know. But your Aunt Lisa just went away for a little while,” he hopes, anyway, “and Lenny loves you. He’s not gonna leave you.” And if he tried, Barry would think of several very painful things to do to him, Captain Cold or no, but he’s not gonna say that to a five year old.

“Come on,” he says, once Lucy’s tears stop falling, “Let’s go. I bet that princess bed is all set up and waiting for you.”

Lucy just nods, but she slips off Barry’s lap and out to the hallway to put her shoes on.

Barry takes a moment to pull out his cell phone and type out a message to the number he hasn’t saved yet.

_U better have a princess bed ready when we get there_

His phone buzzes again when they’re halfway to the bus stop, but he doesn’t check it until he has Lucy safely aboard.

There’s a picture, first, of a white canopy bed against a pink wall, complete with a _Frozen_ bedspread and pillow, with a few cardboard boxes scattered around it in the edges of the picture.

The message just below it says, _I keep my promises._ And then another right below it, _And don’t use text speak, Scarlet._ With a period on the end and everything; somehow charmingly old-fashioned.

Barry smiles, and quickly locks his phone and tucks it away before Lucy can see.

~*~

They walk the last couple of blocks from the bus stop near Jitters to the address Snart gave him, one of Lucy’s hands tucked securely into Barry’s while the other clutches her motorcycle helmet by its straps. Barry was sort of expecting the building to be one of the newer high-rise places that had gone up in the years before the economy tanked, but instead it turns out to be part of a row of three-story brick townhouses, each with a small front garden enclosed in a wrought-iron fence. He checks the address against the message in his phone three times before opening the gate and approaching the front door. Barry’s still not entirely certain he has the right place, until Snart opens the door a few moments after the faint sound of the doorbell fades away.

“Lenny!” Lucy cries out the second she sees him, dropping Barry’s hand and throwing herself at Snart, who bends down to intercept her, hoisting her onto his hip in a smooth motion. Barry uses his speed to catch her helmet before it hits the ground, and manages to also catch the indecipherable look Snart gives him before turning his attention to Lucy.

“Hey, Lucy-bell,” Snart says in that honey-voice, giving her a hug as best he can with her backpack still on before setting her back on her feet. “Did you have fun?”

“Uh-huh!” she confirms enthusiastically, “We went _allegro_! And ate _ants_!”

If looks could kill, Barry has a feeling he’d be dead on Leonard Snart’s doorstep. He doesn’t get a chance to explain before Lucy’s eyes widen.

“Lenny! Lenny, is my princess bed here?” she asks, tugging on Snart’s arm to draw his attention back to her.

Snart’s expression changes in an instant, clearing into a quick, bright smile that hits Barry like a ton of bricks despite not even being aimed at him. Snart is … really, really attractive. Not that Barry had entirely _missed_ that fact, before, but. Maybe it’s because it’s still Snart, but with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows (is that the edge of a tattoo or just a shadow?) and a smile on his face for his … well, basically his _kid_ , for all that she’s his sister and not his daughter. His laugh lines show up and his eyes wrinkle at the corners, and the silver in his short-cropped hair catches the late-afternoon sun just right. He looks like a normal guy and not a dangerous criminal. The kind of normal guy Barry might let buy him a drink, under other circumstances.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and see?” Snart suggests, and Lucy squeals and takes off like a shot, her shoes squeaking against the polished hardwood.

“ _Ants?_ ” Snart asks, raising an articulate eyebrow as Lucy rounds the turn of the stairs.

“Ants on a log,” Barry explains sheepishly. “And the Fresh Beat Band, not… you know.” He waves his hand in a gesture that in no way clearly indicates his speed or the Flash or anything like anything, actually, but Snart just smirks at him like he always does, like Barry’s constantly amusing to him somehow.

“ _MY PRINCESS BED!_ ” Lucy’s shriek echoes through the house, helped along by the fact that, as far as Barry can see from the door, it’s still more full of boxes than anything else.

“Are you planning to come in?” Snart asks, and Barry’s not sure if it’s a genuine question or an invitation until Snart swings the door open further and steps aside, indicating Barry’s welcome with a casual sweep of his arm.

“Thanks,” Barry says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone invites you in, even though a small part of him feels uneasy at the click of the door shutting behind him. He clears his throat awkwardly, not sure if they’re supposed to talk or what. Presumably they are, since Snart invited him in, but Barry’s not sure what to say.

He stalls by looking around for a moment, taking in the sectional sofa in what’s presumably the living room, and the bare hallway leading to what’s probably the kitchen, and the cardboard boxes piled up in the corners of the spaces. Next to the sectional, one of the boxes is clearly labeled “Kitchen,” and Barry can’t help the way his shoulders shake as he tries to keep his laughter in, remembering the annoyance in Snart’s voice as he’d sniped at Mardon over the phone.

Snart looks almost alarmed, when Barry glances at him.

“Am I missing something?” Snart drawls, like he doesn’t care even though Barry can tell he does. Snart doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on; he’s always one step ahead. Barry can’t handle it, at that point, and almost doubles over as the laugh rips out of him like something wild. He manages to point at the box, at least, and takes in the flicker of confusion that passes over Snart’s face before turning into a scowl.

“Damnit, Mardon!” He curses, stalking over to the box as if it’s personally offended him somehow. Barry’s almost gotten himself under control by the time Snart gets to the box, squatting down to lift it properly. He hopes Snart doesn’t notice when his giggling gets a bit high and strangled; it’s a perfectly natural reaction, considering what the combination of tight, black jeans and the position are doing for Snart’s ass. Not to mention the way corded muscles in his forearms flex as he lifts the box — it looks heavy, and something inside clanks when Snart hoists it. But natural reaction or not, it’s … _Leonard Snart_ , and Barry really doesn’t need the man to know he’s been staring at his ass.

Snart’s halfway to the kitchen with the box when Lucy re-appears, practically tripping down the stairs in her haste.

“Uncle Barry! Come see my princess bed!” She grabs Barry’s hand in a vice grip, doing her level best to drag him up the stairs. He doesn’t move for a moment, looking after Snart, who turns around at the noise. Barry figures something about his hesitation makes it clear that he’s waiting for permission, before he goes traipsing through the house, and Snart obliges by tilting his head toward the stairs.

“It’s an exceptional princess bed,” he confirms, his smirk turning into something closer to the smile from earlier, and Barry isn’t even remotely ready to deal with that.

“Come _on_ , Uncle Barry!” Lucy tugs at him, and this time Barry follows her up the stairs willingly. _Uncle Barry._ He has no idea how Snart’s going to take that one.

Lucy’s room is on the second floor of the townhouse, with a window that looks out to a small, fenced patch of grass that seems to be the back yard. There’s not much in it, just a couple of boxes piled against one of the white walls. But, as promised by the picture Snart sent, one of the walls has been painted a bright shade of pink, and against that wall is the promised “princess bed,” complete with the canopy curtains Lucy had been so excited about.

“Look!” She drags Barry further into the room, then launches herself onto the bed, grabbing her pillow. “It’s my _own pillow_! And it has _Elsa_ on it!”

 _It’s my own pillow._ Barry’s chest feels tight.

“That is a really great pillow,” he agrees, fighting not to choke up as she beams proudly, clutching her pillow tightly. It’s practically as big as she is.

“We’re big Elsa fans, around here.” Barry startles at the sound of Snart’s voice, practically in his ear. He hadn’t heard the other man come up behind him, but when he turns, Snart’s close enough that Barry’s shoulder bumps into his chest.

“Can’t imagine why,” Barry quips, trying to cover his surprise.

Snart’s ever-present smirk doesn’t change, but his eyes are strangely warm as he tilts his head towards Barry and their gazes lock. It’s just a slight thing, but he can feel Snart’s breath on his cheek when he speaks.

“Can’t imagine.”

“Lenny, can Uncle Barry stay for dinner?” Lucy asks, breaking the moment. At least this time, Snart looks as startled as Barry, and takes a small step backwards, out of Barry’s personal space. Barry fights the unexpected urge to close the space again.

He needs to go.

“I can’t,” Barry says, too quickly, and Lucy looks stung.

“I mean,” he says, avoiding Snart’s impassive stare, “I can’t stay this time, Lucy. I promised Joe I’d have dinner with him tonight, okay?”

Lucy’s face screws up in confusion. “Who’s Joe?”

Barry smiles at her, crouching down to get closer to her level. “Joe’s my foster dad,” he says, “We were at his house, earlier.”

“Oh.” Lucy ponders this revelation for a moment. “Is your Daddy gone, too?”

The feeling in the room grows tense at that, and Barry keeps his eyes on Lucy, carefully not looking back at Snart.

“Kind of. He couldn’t take care of me anymore, so Joe took me to live with him.”

Lucy brightens at that. “Like me and Lenny!”

“Yeah,” Barry laughs, “Kind of like you and Lenny.” He doesn’t risk a glance over his shoulder.

“Maybe Barry can stay next time,” Snart offers, and Lucy grins up at him.

“You can stay for dinner next time?” Lucy asks for confirmation, and Barry nods.

“Next time,” he says seriously, “I promise.”

“Lucy, why don’t you go wash your hands. I’ll see Barry out.”

She pouts a little, but does as she’s told, stopping to give Barry a hug first. He’s happy to return it, before sending her on her way and standing.

Snart tips his head toward the stairs and Barry nods, following him down and back to the front door. Snart doesn’t open it right away, and Barry takes advantage of the pause.

“So. Next time?” he asks Snart’s back. The muscles across his shoulders tighten, just a bit. Barry wouldn’t have noticed if Snart’s henley weren’t sticking to his skin a bit; he must have been sweating, before Barry and Lucy showed up.

“Don’t worry about it, Scarlet. It won’t happen again,” Snart says as he turns to face Barry, his expression neutral and his eyes almost as opaque as his trademark goggles.

“That won’t work,” Barry says, not entirely sure what’s come over him or why he can’t manage to leave well enough alone when it comes to Leonard Snart. “I mean, I wouldn’t be a very good uncle if I didn’t babysit sometimes.”

He doesn’t think Snart could look more surprised if Barry had slapped him. _Or kissed him_ , and that’s a traitorous thought that Barry squashes ruthlessly.

Snart’s quick to recover, though, schooling his face into something resembling normalcy. There’s still something surprised around his eyes, though. His eyes keep giving him away, now that Barry’s learning to look at them. Snart’s hands are restless, though, like he keeps wanting to rest his hand on the cold gun that isn’t there at the moment.

“Lucy’s great,” Barry says, after it becomes apparent that Snart isn’t going to fill the silence. “But a bit more warning might be nice. I could at least get dressed first, next time.”

“It was a good look for you,” Snart says. Barry knows where to look, this time, and it’s not at the smirk, it’s at the glint in Snart’s eyes when he looks Barry over once, quickly.

“I wasn’t even wearing a shirt!” he complains, crossing his arms over his chest, remembering the way Snart’s eyes had raked over him that morning.

“Like I said.” Snart’s tone doesn’t change at all. He doesn’t leer, or wink, or any of the other stupid things guys Barry meets in bars do, sometimes, just gestures at Barry with a lazy flick of his fingers. Barry feels the tips of his ears burning anyway. The air seems charged, and Barry half expects his lightning to crackle along his skin, but this is a different kind of electricity all together.

“I should go,” Barry finally says, after a long moment.

“Probably,” Snart agrees. They just keep standing there, though, neither of them going for the door, even though Barry feels an itch all over to _move, move, move_.

“Lenny, can I set the table?” Lucy rushes downstairs like she seems to rush everywhere, coming to a halt right between the two of them and looking up at her brother hopefully.

“You can _help_ set the table. No knives. Find the plates first,” Snart directs, and Lucy goes to her mission, though not without hugging Barry’s legs quickly on her way past.

“Bye, Uncle Barry!” she calls out down the hallway.

“Bye, Lucy!” Barry calls back, then turns to her brother. “Until next time, Snart,” Barry says, emphasizing the middle of that statement a little more than he usually would.

“Good night, Barry,” he says, stepping to the side to let Barry pass, not-so-subtly studying him as he goes. Snart opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something more, but Barry doesn’t hear it.

~*~

It’s totally cheating, using his speed to leave like that, but very occasionally, Barry’s self-preservation instincts kick in. Which isn’t to say that he doesn’t spend most of the run to Opal City wondering what, if anything, Snart planned to say.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as soon as he slows down enough for it to properly pick up a tower again, and he pulls it out as he casually makes his way out of the alley near Leandro’s Premium Meats. It unlocks to reveal his message thread with Snart from earlier, this time with a new message at the bottom.

_You can call me Len._

Barry puts his phone back in his pocket, and steps into the store buy the steaks and have them wrapped up in thick paper. He goes back to the alley before he takes off again, hoping any observers will assume he’s taking a shortcut, and then carefully moderates his speed on the way back to Central. It’s quite a bit slower than the time he’d usually make, but not so different from how he’d run to get to Opal City in the first place; he’d feel weird buying steaks in his Flash suit, and it’d be even worse to show up with his clothes on fire from the friction. The trip feels like a jog, compared to his usual speeds. It’s nice in a way; he has a few minutes to think, instead of a few seconds.

It helps, sometimes, to approach things the way he’d approach a crime scene. Work from the evidence. Snart’s gay. Snart thinks he looks good without a shirt on. Snart was probably (definitely, Barry’s mind supplies) flirting with him. Snart has a great ass and an even better smile. Snart wants Barry to call him “Len.”

“I am so screwed,” Barry mutters to himself as he lets himself back into Joe’s house.

“What was that?” Joe asks, poking his head out of the kitchen; Barry hadn’t even noticed his car on the way in.

“Nothing,” Barry says quickly, then holds up the package, which isn’t even smouldering this time — a decisive victory over the power of friction. “I got the steaks!”

“I got the marinade ready; you can throw ‘em in,” Joe instructs, and Barry happily puts the text message, and Leonard Snart, out of his mind for a few hours.

Barry manages to Not Think About It until he’s ready to turn in for the night, pulling his phone from his jeans to plug it in to charge. He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that it’s nearly midnight; he flicks open his messages and types quickly, hitting Send before he can talk himself out of it.

_Good night, Len._

He switches his phone to silent and forces himself to sleep.

In the morning, there’s a tiny check under the message, indicating it was seen at 12:38AM, but no reply.


	3. The Aunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look! A new chapter, and it hasn't been nearly half a year since the last one! Success! \o/ Much thanks to flyingwide and silvain for giving me feedback on this! ♥

Lisa Snart spends a month and a half in Coast City before her cash runs out. Then she liquidates a couple of pieces -- all jewelry, and all ornate and hideous and terribly, terribly valuable to people who like that sort of thing and aren’t very worried about the legality of their acquisitions -- and gets out of town. Another month in Metropolis whips by, and then she really _is_ out of cash, at least unless she makes a pit-stop to retrieve a few things from storage. That’s her retirement fund, though, and she doesn’t want to dip into it too frequently. Especially since Lenny doesn’t seem to have any jobs lined up.

Lenny used to text her codes, signals, indications of where to go and when so they could make plans in person. Now at least twice a day she gets pictures of a little girl doing little girl things -- making silly faces, doing somersaults, playing with her toys, coloring, watching television. Even sleeping, her face smooshed up but peaceful, in a bed that the little girl Lisa used to be would have swooned over. 

Lisa hasn’t replied, but Lenny keeps sending the pictures anyway. He promised her, when they found their way back to each other, that he was never going to abandon her again. Every picture says _come back whenever you’re ready_ , in Lenny-speak, which thankfully Lisa is fluent in. The problem is, she’s not sure she _is_ ready, when the cash runs out a second time. But unless she wants to start burning through her backup funds, which she doesn’t, then there’s not much choice.

_c u soon_ , she types, just to annoy him, the reply popping up below that morning’s picture of Lenny and Lucy, both with flour in their hair from something Lenny only referred to as “a pancake incident.” Lisa shoves her phone in her pocket quickly and turns over the ignition on her bike, the vibration and engine roar more than enough to keep her ignorant of any replies as she turns toward the Gem Cities.

~*~

“Nice place,” is the first thing Lisa says when she steps in the door and pushes her sunglasses up into her hair, looking around assessingly. Lenny slants her a _look_ , but even she’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic or not. It is a nice place, from what she’s seen in Lenny’s pictures and what she can see in person now, but currently the sofa has been turned around so the seats are pushed against the window, the long curtains draped over the back to form something like a cave, and there’s a small armada of plastic ponies arrayed on the floor.

“Lucy’s putting on a play,” he explains, waving at the room. “She’s happy you’re back.” 

“She doesn’t even know me,” Lisa protests, perhaps not the best argument she could have made, but the first one that comes to mind. It’s not Lucy’s fault, of course -- Lisa skipped town once Team Flash declared her medically clear, with only a few short backwards glances. 

“She’s _five_ ,” Lenny says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does. Lisa doesn’t remember much from when she was that young -- she considers it a blessing -- and hasn’t had much occasion to spend time with small children. She’s never _wanted_ to, honestly; even the idea of having children of her own is something that’s crossed her mind only fleetingly, and usually accompanied with disdain. Lisa likes her life, likes her freedom. And other than Lenny, her experience of family life has always been shit anyway.

“AUNT LISA!” Lucy’s arrival is heralded by not only a shout that would probably wake the neighbors if it weren’t early afternoon, but also by a small avalanche of additional ponies escaping from Lucy’s arms as she thunders down the stairs, nearly taking herself out as her socked feet skid on the landing.

“No running on the stairs,” Lenny says tiredly, as if he’s said it a thousand times before, and too late since Lucy’s already hit the bottom and attached herself firmly to Lisa’s legs, completely ignoring Lenny’s warning whether out of excitement or habit. 

“You’re back! Did you have fun? Are you gonna live here now? Do you wanna watch my play?”

Lucy’s questions fly almost too fast to process; Lisa’s only gotten as far as putting a hand on top of her head and having a vague thought about bending down to hug. 

“I have my own apartment,” Lisa answers first, though after a moment of Lucy’s crestfallen look and her brother’s expectant stare, she continues, “But I would love to watch your play.”

Lucy shrieks with joy, and Lisa barely manages to keep herself from covering her ears. 

“It’s almost ready but you can’t watch yet so you have to go to the kitchen,” Lucy instructs, switching her focus from cutting off circulation to Lisa’s legs to shoving her down the hallway insistently, instead. Lenny tries to duck out of the way, but Lucy catches him in her onslaught as well. “You too, Lenny! No peeking!”

Once she’s satisfied that they’re both beyond the doorway to the kitchen, Lucy stops pushing them along. “I’ll call you when it’s time to start the show!” she declares, then runs back down the hall to the living room, nearly tripping again on the hardwood floor. 

“We’ve been banished,” Lenny quips, then nods meaningfully towards the fridge. “Beer?”

The time on the microwave shows 2:18 in the afternoon, but a beer sounds perfect. Lisa nods, then waits as Lenny retrieves two bottles from the crisper drawer labeled “Vegetables” and pops the tops. There’s a surprisingly well-done coloring page of Captain Cold tacked up to the fridge with a magnet from some sort of delivery place, next to a much messier but still matching page of the Flash. It piques Lisa’s curiosity, but she bites her tongue for the moment. Besides, she has every hope that the story behind the pictures’ presence is embarrassing enough to torment her brother with, and she’s just out of sorts enough that she wouldn’t be anywhere near as effective at annoying him right now as she will be on a better day.

“Planning to stick around for a while?” Lenny asks casually, like he doesn’t care even though Lisa knows him better than that. He leans his hip against the shiny granite countertop. The whole kitchen looks like the last ten minutes of any given hour on HGTV. The best compliment she could have given the last place Lenny lived was that it had fewer rats than usual (which was more due to the nearby colony of feral cats than any actual effort on Lenny’s part). 

“Haven’t decided,” she shrugs, playing with the edge of the label on her bottle. “You got any jobs lined up for me? Could use some cash.” 

She rolls her eyes at him when Lenny looks at her with one of his best Big Brother expressions, a mix of concern that she’s taken care of and chastisement for not being more responsible. Whatever, Lenny’s always been the one with the plans, not her.

“Relax, Lenny. I haven’t hit my stash. Just low on liquid assets,” it’s half a joke, since her beer is already more empty than full, and she jostles it just enough to make that fact obvious.

He takes a long, slow drink from his own bottle before answering her original question. “Nothing planned right now.” 

“Except a play,” Lisa notes flatly, trying to keep her expression neutral. “I can see what you’re trying to do here, you know. But I’m a thief, Lenny, not somebody’s mother.” 

Lenny looks genuinely stricken at that, which is to say that his walls come slamming down, pulling her brother back behind the safety of his Captain Cold mask.

“Cool it, sis,” he warns, draining the rest of his beer and promptly fetching two more from the fridge. 

Lisa narrows her eyes at that, assessing.

“One six-pack a week,” Lenny says, like he can read her mind, and maybe about this, he can. “You’re already ruining my Saturday night and it’s only Tuesday.” 

“I know you wouldn’t hurt her,” Lisa allows, then fixes her brother in a serious stare. “It wasn’t just the booze. There was something twisted in him, Lenny, you know there was. You’ve never been like that.” 

Lenny huffs and smiles a smile that isn’t really a smile at all. “He wasn’t like that either, until he was.” He winces, just a little, just enough that she knows he’s feeling the phantom ache of long-healed scars under his shirt. She moves like that sometimes, too.

“I don’t remember any of that,” Lisa admits, and Lenny nods. 

“I know.” 

They let the silence lie for a moment, undisturbed except for the soft sounds of liquid and the clink of glass against granite. 

“I don’t remember the last time you didn’t have a job in mind, Lenny,” Lisa says quietly after a moment. “What’s the plan, here? Minivans and soccer practice? Play suburban single dad until you lose your mind and ice the PTA?”

That gets a laugh out of him, at least, even if it’s a truncated one. She can see him struggling, whatever it is he wants to say. Lenny learned early on to play everything close to the vest. Both of them did. 

“There’s no plan,” he admits after a moment, soft like she hasn’t heard since they were both so much younger. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Lise. But I wasn’t gonna let her end up in the system, and I’m not gonna let her grow up squatting in fucking warehouses.” The anger in his voice has simmered a long time, grown thick and rich and layered with purpose. 

Lisa has a sudden thought, and it sends a bolt of uncertainty through her.

“Lenny.” She waits until she’s sure she’s got his attention, until his eyes meet hers. “Who owns this house?” 

She feels the bottom drop out of her stomach just from the way his eyes flicker away for a split-second. 

“Leon Star,” he admits after a pause, not bothering to lie since she’s already caught him out. 

“ _Lenny_.” It’s all she can say, really. 

Lisa has a couple of storage units full of things she’s taken from scores over the years; stuff too hot to fence right away, but also things that will appreciate eventually. She’s got a few savings bonds, too; nice, legal money socked away just in case. Compared to a lot of the people in her profession, Lisa’s got it together — living from score-to-score is dangerous when you don’t know which score will end up being your last, but that doesn’t mean a lot of them don’t do it. So Lisa’s more prepared than most. 

Lenny has her beat by _light-years_. 

The thing about Lenny is, he’s a planner. He’s been like that as long as she can remember, and probably even before she was born. So where Lisa has a few storage units under a couple of fake names, Lenny has a goddamn _network_ of false identities. Lenny has _investments_ , actual investments with actual financial advisors and stock brokers and all that bullshit. Lisa even has a sneaking suspicion that, if she dug deep enough for long enough, she’d be able to find proof that Lenny owns Saints and Sinners, not that he’d ever admit to it. _Theoretically_ , Lenny could have retired to a Caribbean island years ago and never pulled another job again. 

But that’s _theory_. “Leon Star” is reality. Lisa mostly doesn’t keep track of Lenny’s various false names and fake IDs, because for the most part it doesn’t really matter. But this one she knows. “Leon Star” has a fifteen-year history of quiet-but-successful real estate deals and smart investing and regularly contributing to his IRA. “Leon Star” has filed beautifully accurate taxes every year, other than the carefully selected deduction or two he “forgets” to take, because perfection is an obvious tell to anyone smart enough to look for it. “Leon Star” values his privacy but his LLC makes regular contributions to the Boys  & Girls Club and sponsors a fucking Gem Cities Little League team. “Leon Star” was the long con, the endgame, the retirement plan.

(He’d offered to set one up for her, a long time ago. But Lisa doesn’t have the patience for it; she likes to look at things that glitter, not just numbers on a statement. Sometimes, though, when she catches a glimpse of the zeroes on those numbers, she thinks she should have said yes.)

“Holy _fuck_ Lenny,” she adds after a moment, still not entirely sure what else to say. 

Part of her wants to shake him and scream at him that this is the stupidest shit he’s ever done, that “Leon Star” was supposed to be an escape plan in twenty years when they’re both too goddamn old to be pulling the kind of heists they both prefer. The other part of her is hysterically wondering if _this_ is the escape plan; if he’s not so much burning his bridge to post-criminal retirement as taking it across to the other side, with a five-year-old in tow.

“Language,” he says, glancing towards the living room as if Lucy could be magically summoned by cursing. 

“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with this,” Lisa hisses, forcing herself not to yell. “Are you _out_ , Lenny? Is that what you’re saying?”

“ _I don’t fucking know_ ,” he hisses back, his eyes like glaciers. “Are you happy? I don’t know. I just told you, I didn’t have a plan for this. But I’m not ‘out’ of anything.” 

If this were a normal day, a normal one of their good-natured bickering sessions, she would have a joke to make about closets. But this isn’t a normal day. 

“But you’re thinking about it,” Lisa says, not asking, and Lenny doesn’t answer, which is almost answer enough.

They’re still standing there, tension thick in the air, when Lucy rushes in from the living room and stops cold in her tracks, glancing back and forth between them with wide, apprehensive eyes. It makes Lisa angry at herself for a moment, because she knows that feeling — the one where you can feel the stormclouds approaching but can’t quite tell who’s about to feel their wrath, or when.

Lenny, though. Lenny just … changes. It’s like all the hardness melts away as he turns to Lucy, abandoning his beer on the counter and kneeling down to get on her level. He smiles at her like nothing was ever wrong, like they’d been having a pleasant chat instead of something that was gearing up into the sort of fight that usually has Lisa headed for the hills for a while, until she can cool off enough to deal with her pigheaded brother.

“Hey, Lucy-bell. Are you ready for us to watch your play?”

It seems like that’s all the reassurance Lucy needs that everything is fine, because the worry washes off of her as quickly as it came on, and she nods happily. 

“Yup!” Lucy grabs his hand and starts to drag him off toward the living room, walking backwards so she can still see Lisa. “Come on, Aunt Lisa! You promised you were gonna watch!” 

Lisa’s fairly sure that’s not what she actually said, but it’s close enough for hand grenades. 

The window curtains have been fully pulled across the back of the sofa, and both she and Lenny are directed to take their seats behind the pony garrison on the floor — the audience, clearly — while Lucy crawls up over the arm of the sofa and into the hollow space that’s been created.

Lisa takes her cues from Lenny when the show starts; Lenny’s always been reserved, but when Lucy pulls back the curtains to start her performance, he claps like it’s a broadway show and not a little girl standing on the couch cushions. He continues to exaggerate everything, laughing at the right times, gasping dramatically as required by the plot of the story. 

The play, it turns out, is more of a puppet show, in that it features Lucy’s action figures of the Flash and Captain Cold (Lisa has to fake a sudden coughing fit to keep from laughing) as well as Lucy — as herself — teaming up to save the city from an evil wizard. The part of the wizard is played by a stuffed giraffe with a pillowcase tied around its neck as a cape. 

If Lisa’s honest, she has to admit she can’t quite figure out how they save the city, because the story doesn’t make very much sense. Especially not when a purple plastic pony shows up halfway through to help fight the wizard with the power of friendship (which, according to Lucy’s play, produces a lot of whooshing noises and explosions). 

If Lisa’s even _more_ honest, she has to admit that Lenny looks… happy. Like there’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be than sitting on the floor in his own house, listening to a little girl explain how a plastic pony had to save Captain Cold from a giraffe wizard. Lisa just can’t _understand_ it; it makes her sad and angry and somehow guilty all at once, a riot of emotions that don’t need to be expressed in front of Lucy, but that Lisa knows will spill out eventually.

Lenny claps with what seems like actual enthusiasm at the end of the show, and picks Lucy up in a hug when she emerges from the end of the couch, having clumsily closed the curtains after taking her bows. 

“Did you like it?” Lucy asks anxiously, her thin arms wrapped around Lenny’s neck, and he leans in and kisses her forehead, squeezing her just a little. 

“I loved it,” he says, without a trace of irony in his voice, and it strikes Lisa, at that moment, that he _did_. 

“Aunt Lisa, did you like my play?” Lucy asks once Lenny’s set her back on the floor.

“I did,” she says, and finds that she means it, even if she hadn’t expected to. “You did a great job.”

Lucy beams at her, and just for a second, maybe, Lisa can understand why her brother is turning his life upside-down.

~*~

“I’m not asking you to be her mother,” Lenny says, much later that night, after Lucy has been tucked away to sleep and the elder Snarts are sitting at the kitchen table, making short work of the remainder of Lenny’s one-a-week six-pack. “We’re not her parents. But she _is_ our sister.”

“I know that,” Lisa says with a sigh. “But really, Lenny, what the hell do I know about kids? I can teach her to pick locks, I guess.”

“Not until she’s seven,” Lenny says, and only the tiny glint in his eyes and the way his cheek twitches minutely give away that he’s joking. It goes as quickly as it came.

“She’s a little girl,” he says finally. “I remember how to braid hair, but she’s going to need things I don’t know how to give her. Not right now, maybe, but soon enough.”

“Please,” Lisa scoffs. “You were never scared to go buy me tampons, Lenny.”

“Maybe not, but that’s not what I meant,” he points out, and Lisa inclines her head in acknowledgement. She does know, if only because it had been hard to grow up without her own mother around. She’d had to learn how to do her makeup from magazines and navigate the hazardous landscape of middle school on her own, and she really, really doesn’t want to revisit the horrifyingly awkward birds-and-bees talk that Lenny had been forced to give her because there was no one else to do it and he wasn’t going to let her end up knocked up by some loser high-school boy when she had her whole life ahead of her. Not that she’d turned out all that great, in the end, but she hadn’t become a statistic, at least.

“She doesn’t need a new mother. But she could use an Aunt Lisa, sometimes,” Lenny says, then sits quietly and waits. She knows he’ll wait all night, if he has to.

Lisa closes her eyes and exhales slowly.

“Okay. I’ll stick around for a while. And I’ll try,” she says, “but that’s all I’m promising.”

“Fair enough.”

Lenny tilts the neck of his bottle towards hers. She accepts the invitation, bringing the glass together with a clink.

~*~

It’s bright and sunny and _hot_ on Saturday when Barry finishes his shift -- early, in fact, because apparently the universe had decided to reward him for something by making things go _right_ for a change. He’s supposed to meet Iris later for a tux fitting, which promises to be a terrible experience but is required, per Iris, if he wants to be her man of honor. It’s still strange to think about, mostly because for so many years when he’d pictured Iris’ wedding, he _had_ pictured himself in a tux -- but standing in front of the bride, not behind her. It still stings, sometimes, but she and Eddie are good together. Barry might not have liked the detective at first, but he’s proven himself, several times over. And he makes Iris happy. No matter how much it hurts sometimes that it’s not with _him_ , Barry wants Iris to be happy, first and foremost.

So. Man of honor. Tux fitting. He has a few hours to kill, though, since apparently appointments for this sort of thing are strictly scheduled and he’s not just allowed to show up early and get it over with. He checked in with Cisco and Caitlin and confirmed that there wasn’t anything going on that required the Flash’s intervention, and so he’s left with what has become an increasingly precious commodity: free time. 

Barry’s first order of business is a stop-over at Jitters for an iced Flash (“Beat the heat with CC’s coolest hero! Available for a limited time!”), taken to go. Without any firm direction in mind, he decides to wander towards the park. For all the time he spends running around Central City, he doesn’t get much time to just _enjoy_ it anymore. Plus the squirrels are cute.

The walk is peaceful, along paths shaded by trees that might have even been here before there was even a mining town to speak of, much less a bustling city. Barry lets his mind wander as he people-watches -- a mixed group doing Tai Chi out on the grass, a few picnics that might be dates or might not, two old women chatting on a bench together, the occasional jogger he has to move aside for. He’s not really paying _attention_ to any of it, just letting the feeling of the afternoon wash over him while he sips his drink.

That’s why it’s only his reflexes and his speed that save him, when he’s attacked from behind. 

“UNCLE BARRY!” 

He spins on his heels and almost immediately has Lucy plastered to his legs, nearly knocking him off balance. Barry really, really hopes no one was watching closely enough to notice that there’s no way someone _without_ super-speed would have been able to prevent a coffee disaster.

“Hi, Lucy!” He greets her, once he’s overcome his startlement at her abrupt arrival. 

She grins up at him, with a recently-split lip and a missing tooth.

A chill of horror washes through him as Barry drops down to one knee to look at her face more closely, quickly turning to nausea as his brain produces all the horrible possibilities. Had _Snart_...?

But Lucy’s still grinning at him. “Look, Uncle Barry!” she says, stretching her mouth open wide and pointing at the gap with an eager finger. “I augh a oo!”

“Yeah, you definitely lost a tooth all right. What happened?” Barry’s doing his best to stay calm, since Lucy doesn’t seem upset and he doesn’t want to change that. He fails, apparently, because Lucy frowns.

“I fell on the stairs,” she says sadly, but perks right up again after a brief pause. “My face went _splat_ ,” she claps loudly to demonstrate, “and there was blood _everywhere_! And then the tooth fairy gave me money so we’re getting _ice cream_! Do you want to get ice cream with us, Uncle Barry?”

Barry tears his attention away from Lucy at that, making a noncommital noise instead of answering. _Us_ , so Snart’s _here_ somewhere. Which is useful, just in case Barry needs to punch him. Hard.

But Snart’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, a familiar voice says, “And who exactly are you, _Uncle Barry_?” in a tone that makes him worry whether it’s actually him that’s going to end up punched. 

Also, _shit_.

“Uh, hi,” he says, turning his attention to the voice and facing the inevitable. Lisa Snart does not look amused. Of course, that doesn’t last long, since her expression flickers through recognition and then confusion in the blink of an eye.

“I know you,” she says, shifting her stance smoothly from _I can kill you with these shopping bags_ to _friendly conversation_. “You’re Cisco’s friend, right?”

“Barry Allen,” he introduces himself, standing up so he can face her evenly, because it’s not like _Lisa Snart_ won’t be able to figure out his name anyway, if she’s determined to.

“Uncle Barry babysits me!” Lucy adds, happy to go back to clinging to Barry’s leg.

Lisa glances at Lucy when she speaks, then gives Barry a long, searching once-over. “He does, does he?” she murmurs, something predatory on her face and a speculative gleam in her eye. 

“Ah, it was just the one time,” Barry says, not that it makes the situation any better. 

There’s a long, anticipatory pause, and then Lisa smiles brightly.

“Well then. Are you coming with us to get ice cream, _Barry_?” 

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?” Lucy begs, turning wide blue eyes on him, cuter than any park squirrel. 

“Ice cream sounds good,” Barry concedes weakly; the tux fitting may turn out to be the high point of his day, after all.

~*~

“Ice cream” turns out to be frozen yogurt from Fro-Yo Mama, and Lucy’s dish ends up full of more rainbow sprinkles than actual fro-yo, but Barry figures that she was going to end up with a sugar high either way, so he doesn’t step in when Lisa does nothing to intervene. He pays for his own dish separately, so Lisa and Lucy have already found a table on the outside patio when Barry emerges with his own concoction.

“So, _Barry Allen_ , tell me about yourself,” Lisa demands after Barry’s already seated with a mouth full of fro-yo, and therefore unable to escape. He chokes a little, swallowing down the bite quickly.

“What do you want to know?” Barry asks in reply, partly to stall while he tries to think of things about himself that he’s comfortable revealing to Lisa Snart. There… aren’t a lot, to be honest, mostly because despite his past run-ins with her, he doesn’t know a lot about how she operates, especially without her brother around. 

“Are you a student?” She asks, with seemingly genuine curiosity, though there’s still that predatory glint in her eyes that makes Barry feel like a wounded gazelle on the savannah. It’s not a terribly odd question, especially since the CCU campus is only about a half-mile away from the park where they’d run into each other, but it makes him grumpy anyway, because people are _always_ asking him that.

“ _No_ ,” he says firmly, then, because since she already has his name the secrecy is moot, “I’m a forensic analyst with the CCPD. A CSI.” 

Lisa’s eyes go wide with shock and then narrow in suspicion in the space of a few seconds, and her hand moves subtly toward her bag. Barry wonders if she’d managed to fit the gold gun in there, or if whatever she’s carrying is more of a conventional weapon. Either way, his brain is already spinning, predicting angles and the best way to minimize potential casualties. Her hand stops moving before really reaching for anything, but Barry stays on alert just in case.

“So you’re not jailbait, but you are a badge. Interesting,” Lisa says, examining him with a terrifying amount of focus. 

“I’m neither, actually,” Barry clarifies. “I’m not an officer, so no badge. And I’m definitely not jailbait, thanks.”

“What’s jailbait?” Lucy asks curiously, fro-yo smeared around her mouth, apparently following along with the conversation more than either Barry or Lisa had anticipated based on her single-minded enthusiasm for her treat. 

“Oh god,” Barry buries his face in his hands.

Lisa just laughs, even though Barry is vaguely mortified. When Lisa catches sight of his face, she laughs even harder.

“Don’t worry about it, Luce, I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Lisa promises, and Lucy pouts a bit but returns to her dish, which still contains approximately half a pound of sprinkles, by the looks of it.

“And you can’t blame me for thinking it, with a face like that,” Lisa gestures at him with her long spoon.

“You met me in a _bar_!” Barry argues, but Lisa only rolls her eyes.

“Like that means anything. I was hanging out in bars when I was fourteen.” 

There’s nothing Barry can think of to say to that statement.

“Still, the badge thing explains why Lenny hasn’t mentioned you,” she says, ignoring Barry’s previous protestations on that point. “So,” she takes a quick and pointed bite of her fro-yo, “How long have you been dating my brother?”

“What!?” Barry will probably deny later how high-pitched his voice went, just then, but really, _what_. “No! No no no,” he protests, “I don’t know where you got the idea-- Len and I are definitely _not_ dating. No.” 

Lisa regards him thoughtfully. “I’m his sister, you know, not the rest of the criminal underground he thinks he needs to protect you from. I mean, granted I’ll definitely find a way to murder you if you hurt him,” she says lightly, like she isn’t threatening bloody vengeance even though Barry knows better than to take her anything less than seriously, “but I’ve got more effective ways of making Lenny do what I want than going after his boyfriend.”

“I am really _not_ his boyfriend,” Barry declares, making eye contact and hoping that sincerity will lead to an end to this conversation. He can only imagine how pissed off Len would be if his sisters came home congratulating him on his imagined relationship; especially his imagined relationship with _Barry_. Barry still has that tux fitting to go to later; he doesn’t have time for Captain Cold to make an appearance just because he’s mad at Barry for Lisa’s assumptions.

Then again, maybe it would be an excuse to get out of it…? _No,_ Barry decides after a moment; Iris would kill him in his sleep.

“Strangely, I actually believe you,” Lisa says after a moment, but instead of ending the interrogation, she stares at him even more intently, tilting her head to the side. Barry sets his jaw determinedly and stares back, waiting. 

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding,” she mutters after a moment, a terrifying expression of understanding and incredulity on her face. “ _You!?_ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barry lies. Unfortunately, like most of his lies, it’s not very convincing, and he knows it. 

“Well, at least that explains it. Cute face like that, _and_ you look good in leather? No wonder Lenny’s cream--,” Lisa cuts herself off with the barest glance at Lucy, and finishes with, “--pily obsessed.”

“It’s not leather,” Barry argues, rather than touching either the actual statement or Leonard Snart creaming _anything_. He can feel his face heating anyway, burning the tips of his ears.

Lisa’s victorious smirk makes him realize his mistake.

“Shit,” he says before he can think better of it. Lucy looks up from the melty remains of her fro-yo and frowns at him.

“That’s a _bad word_ Uncle Barry,” she scolds.

“Wouldn’t want to set a bad example for the children, would you now?” Lisa jabs, settling back to her own dessert like the cat who got the cream--almost literally in this case. 

“Sorry, Lucy,” Barry apologizes.

“‘F’you’re really sorry you can come get nails done with me and Aunt Lisa?” Lucy turns a mega-watt smile and perfect puppy eyes on him, and if Barry had forgotten that she has Snart blood in her, that would have reminded him.

“Don’t tell me; you taught her that?” Barry asks Lisa with a roll of his eyes, as much testing the waters as anything else.

“Natural talent, I’m afraid,” Lisa quips, holding out her hand to Lucy for a high-five that Lucy returns, though Barry’s not entirely sure Lucy understands _why_ she’s earned the high-five. Which is good. Deviousness like that shouldn’t be rewarded, especially when Barry is weak to it. Today, though, he has Iris’s angry-disappointed face lingering in the back of his mind to keep him strong.

“Maybe some other time?” Barry suggests, though maybe not for getting nails done. He can just see himself being bullied into sparkly pink polish, and enough guys at the station rip on him as it is. “I’ve gotta get fitted for a tux,” he explains, and on second thought maybe the pink nail polish wouldn’t be so bad… _No,_ he reminds himself. _Remember. Iris. Stabby death._

“Can’t be prom,” Lisa smirks, and Barry wants very badly to make a rude gesture, but he does _not_ want to explain that one to Len. “You gettin’ married, Barry?” 

Barry’s surprised at the sudden hint of icy venom in Lisa’s voice. His brow furrows in confusion.

“No, not me,” he shakes his head. “My sister. I’m her man of honor, and she will definitely come after me with something pointy if I skip out on this appointment.” Barry shrugs.

“Is she gonna have a sparkly princess dress?” Lucy asks, her eyes wide, no doubt imagining the perfect sparkly princess dress. Barry laughs.

“I guess so? It’s kind of sparkly, and she definitely looks like a princess in it.” 

It’s an understatement. Iris looks absolutely stunning in her dress, and Barry’s heart still aches when he thinks about her picking it out, tears of happiness in her eyes as she’d hugged him and Joe in turn, excited but careful not to damage the dress she’d decided was _the one_ , and making both of them promise not to tell Eddie anything about what it looks like, even if he begs.

Apparently it’s the right answer; Lucy looks absolutely delighted. 

Barry checks the time, even though he can literally be at the appointment in seconds. He’s gotten reasonably good at making sure his clothes don’t catch on fire when he uses his speed, but accidents have been known to happen and he’s pretty sure the place he’s supposed to meet Iris is going to make him feel underdressed anyway; he doesn’t need to show up halfway charred.

“I should get going, actually. I don’t want to get in trouble for being late.” 

Lisa scoffs. “You? Late?” 

“You have _no_ idea,” Barry comments under his breath as he stands up.

Lucy scrambles around the table to secure a hug goodbye, and Barry scoops her up easily so she can wrap her arms around his neck. She’s got some frozen yogurt around her mouth that makes his cheek sticky when she gives him a childish peck on the cheek.

“I’ll see you soon, Lucy. Be good for your Aunt Lisa,” Barry says; it just pops out, even though he really has no investment in whether Lucy behaves for her Aunt Lisa or not. It just seems like the thing to say, and Lucy takes it in stride.

“Bye, Uncle Barry!” Lucy says, with one last squeeze for good measure before Barry sets her carefully back on her feet. “You can come get nails done with us next time, okay?” 

“Deal,” Barry promises, hoping that she’ll forget about the whole nails thing by the next time he sees her. 

“See you around, Barry,” Lisa adds, with a little wave and a cheeky smile that almost makes Barry regret not staying to have his drink at Jitters. Then again, it was nice to see Lucy, and he at least has some hope that Len can convince his sister to agree to the same deal he had. 

He escapes quickly for a normal human but achingly slowly for a speedster, feeling like he’s dragging his feet the whole time; the itch to run is a powerful thing, these days.

He ends up only being five minutes late to meet Iris, and counts it a victory.

~*~

The tux fitting takes far longer than Barry is sure it absolutely needs to. He has to stand patiently still while an elderly woman with an Eastern European accent of some variety that Barry can’t place measures every inch of him. _Every_ inch. Barry feels slightly violated, honestly--he’s pretty sure she copped at least one extra feel, somewhere in there. And that’s only the beginning; after the measuring it’s a seemingly endless parade of styles and cuts that Barry mostly can’t tell apart, but which Iris and the old European woman examine with critical eyes and dismiss, one after another.

His phone vibrates in his jeans pocket when he’s ducked into the changing room to try yet another indistinguishable black tuxedo, and he grabs it like a lifeline, hoping there’s a meta on the loose or _something_ urgent enough to get him out of whatever the rest of this appointment has in store. 

It’s not S.T.A.R. Labs, though, or even Joe or the CCPD. It’s Len, and it’s just a text, not a call.

_I’ll pencil you in for the next manicure day._ it says, and Barry almost bursts out laughing before strangling it; the walls are thin and he doesn’t want either of the women waiting outside to know he’s not one-hundred-percent focused on the intricacies of tuxedo fashion.

_please don’t_ Barry sends back quickly, propping his phone on the armchair that is inexplicably placed in the corner of the dressing room. He takes his time changing, pretending it’s because he doesn’t want to try on another tux instead of because he’s hoping for a reply. As he’s pulling the next pair of trousers on, the three little dots appear tauntingly at the bottom of the screen, and stay there for a long time. Far too long for what finally appears.

_How about the zoo next Saturday?_

Barry stares at his phone like it might explode. Suddenly, getting dressed quickly seems like a great plan.

As with many of Barry’s great plans, it doesn’t turn out so great. This, as it turns out, is _just right!_ and as such Barry has to stand very still while the old woman with the wandering hands puts a lot of very sharp pins very close to sensitive parts of Barry’s anatomy. _For the tailoring,_ she says, but Barry’s almost certain that she just likes watching him squirm. 

By the time he’s released back to the dressing room, it’s been… well, too long. There aren’t any new messages, but Barry feels guilty for abandoning the conversation so abruptly and for so long, without giving an answer. 

_promise no monkey house and im in_ , he finally types out. Barry still has nightmares about Grodd sometimes; the monkey house is a no-go. After a second he adds, _sry, was being held prisoner by evil seamstress_.

_I’m going to hope you’re joking_ Len sends back, and Barry has to admit that, crazy as it seems, “evil seamstress” is something that wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for his life, these days. He’s still got the tux on, pins included, so he turns to the mirror and snaps a photo.

_not joking. look okay?_ he types out before sending it along. 

There’s another long pause, three dots lingering at the bottom of the thread until the reply finally arrives.

_You look perfect._ is all it says, in the end, and Barry’s stomach feels sort of fluttery, whether over the compliment or over the fact that it had taken Len the better part of three minutes to decide to send it.

“Barry! What’s taking so long?” Iris asks, tapping lightly on the changing room door. Barry startles. 

“Ah, sorry!” he calls back, “I’m trying to avoid bleeding to death from all these pins.” It’s not entirely a lie. There are a _lot_ of pins, okay.

_10 A.M. outside the gates._ Len sends in the meantime, apparently not waiting for Barry to reply, or maybe not expecting him to.

_i’ll be there_ Barry thumbs out, then puts his phone down. It’s a good thing that he has to focus on getting out of the tux without becoming a pincushion, because the alternative is to think about the fact that he’s going to have to request a schedule swap at work so that he can go to the zoo with Leonard and Lucy Snart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [solarcat](http://solarcat.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr as well; feel free to hit me up. :)


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